htest sign of recognition.
And they were proud of his company, which to others would have proved
somewhat of a wet blanket. Without a doubt they assisted mightily in
his cure, though neither he nor they knew it.

Every morning when he jumped up to see the weather, the first things
that met him when he reached the open window, were four eager eyes
full of welcome, and a grave intelligent brown face and hopeful
swinging tail, and a dancing white face and little wriggling body.

Then he would pull up the blinds and they would enter with an easy
bound and a scramble, and while he hastily flung on his things they
would prowl about, now pushing investigating noses into an open
drawer, and again taking a passing drink out of his water-jug by way
of first breakfast.

Then, away through the gaps in the jewelled hedges, with the larks at
their matins overhead, and the tethered cows nuzzling out the dainty
morning grasses, and watching the intruders speculatively till they
passed out of sight into the next field.

"Which way? Which way? Which way?" shrieked Scamp, as he tore to and
fro down every possible road to show that all were absolutely alike to
him. While Punch bounded lightly to the first dividing of the ways and
waited there with slow-swinging tail to see which road Man would
choose.

The Harbour--or Les Laches--which? Every morning Scamp raced hopefully
towards the sweet-smelling tunnel of hawthorn trees that led down to
the other tunnel in the rock and the tiny harbour, because, for a very
small dog, the granite slip was much easier to compass than the steep
ledges of Les Laches. And every morning Punch waited quietly at
Colinette to see how Man would go.

And when the tide was low and the harbour empty, Punch knew it was Les
Laches almost before Man's face had turned that way, and off he went
at a gallop, and Scamp came tearing back with expostulatory yelps, and
got in Punch's way and was rolled head over heels, but always came
right side up at the fourth turn and rushed on without even a
remonstrance, for that was a very small price to pay for the exalted
companionship of Punch and Man.

So, past La Peignerie and La Forge, with the thin blue smoke of gorse
fires floating down from every dumpy chimney and adding a flavour to
the sweetest air in the world,--with a morning greeting from everyone
they met--over the heights and down the zigzag path to the sloping
ledges, and in they went, all three, into the clear